


recollect me darling, raise me to your lips

by celestial_txt



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Hadesform fucking, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Overstimulation, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, Tentacle Sex, Vaginal Sex, service top Emet but still snarky service top Emet he’s just like that the fucking RAT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestial_txt/pseuds/celestial_txt
Summary: “Sometimes you see a monster and you want a monster."The Warrior of Light sees a mural depicting Hades in his true form. She finds it hot. Who is Emet-Selch to resist?
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 11
Kudos: 98





	recollect me darling, raise me to your lips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tsukishimmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukishimmy/gifts).



Ming Yue’s tastes run wide, varied and with a slant for the peculiar. Emet-Selch has figured out that much about her, and yet it keeps surprising him what she finds interesting. She is so _open_ to the world, to everything it has to offer, as if every little precious thing has value. 

It is almost endearing to behold, if it wasn’t such an infuriating reminder of how some things keep changing and others remain painfully the same.

While the Scions are arguing the semantics over the cave murals of Hydaelyn and Zodiark, as if it matters what they think his words mean, Ming has drifted to another set of murals on the cave wall, studying them with a small smile playing on her lips.

Following her gaze, he cannot help but be… Intrigued. And also a bit amazed that someone on this shard remembered his true form enough to depict it with such specific detail. Shattered memories are strange little things, manifesting in odd ways. It does not matter either, not truly, but it does flatter him that they were so thorough in their recreation of his true form.

What does, however, is how Ming’s lips are parting as she leans closer to the mural, her fingers out in the air without touching as she traces the shape of Hades. It is an eerily accurate depiction — the only real thing he can flaw is the artistic license taken in leaving out some of the more elaborate details he spent so long crafting. A lack of appreciation for his hard work, to be sure. 

“Enthralled, are we?” Emet-Selch asks, sidling up next to Ming. “I did not know you loved simple, rudimentary paintings this much.”

“They’re so beautiful,” she says, ignoring his barb. Or perhaps she heard it and decided to not get riled up. This is the worst thing about Ming, in Emet-Selch’s mind: she is so damn _nice._ She never rises to the bait, never hooks into his pointed remarks, simply smiling at them as if they mean nothing. Or worse, that she sees through him.

“It is amazing how long they have lasted.” She tilts her head as if they are in an art gallery and she’s taking in a painting of incredible depth. “It’s kind of hot, don’t you think?” she asks him. “This… Monster.”

Emet-Selch quirks an eyebrow, knowingly doing a poor job of hiding his amusement. “Is that so?”

“Like. The tentacles. Are they tentacles?”

“They are.”

“And that person in front of them? At the altar?”

Now that is pure artistic license. He never had a _sexual_ cult dedicated to him, though he did stir up a few niche ones now and again out of sheer boredom.

“Yes, it would seem they are enjoying what is being done to them.” To put it mildly. 

“They look so blissful. I’d love to be fucked like that,” she sighs, her expression so dreamy. 

“Strange desires to have, in a mortal such as yourself.”

She looks at him in a way that unmoors him — like she has glimpsed something within him. Glimpsed _that_ within him, the true contours of who he is. There has always been something peculiar with her sight, her ability to connect dots, and it is like she is finally able to put it together with him. 

Her eyes move between him and the mural, open and perceiving, and then she grins wide enough that her teeth gleam in the low light. “I like what I see.” She says it softly, but the intention is clear to him. 

Who is he to say no to such a proposal? “You crave a monster like that, hmm?” He smirks, curling his finger around a strand of her long, black hair. “That can be arranged.”

Ming looks up at him with a knowing, wry smile. Oh, how clever she plays. Annoying, but always admirable. 

He strings it out a little, making her wait. Not too long, just enough that when the night comes that he finally knocks on her suite door in the Pendants she has a ravenous look to her eyes and the silken robe she wears is poorly done up, one sleeve dropping down and revealing the soft skin of her shoulder. 

“Expectant, are we?” he teases, walking past her to the kitchen corner to uncork a bottle of wine for himself. “Most mortals would be quivering with fear at this prospect.”

“I like adventures,” she says, drawing close to him, taking the glass out of his hands before he even has time to sip. She tugs at his shirt playfully, hooking her fingers in between the buttons. “Come down here.” She stands up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on his lips, warm and welcoming, as if she is the one seducing him in this moment.

He will allow it. A little. 

Emet-Selch brings his fingers up to her jawline, urging her to deepen the kiss, and she does, lips parting and tongues meeting. He can taste a hint of sweet berries, and he breaks apart before he does something as revealing as _moan_ into her mouth. He intends to take his time with Ming, wanting to rile her up. It would not do to go too fast, even if her hands fumble to undo her own robes. 

“Such a rush to be in,” he admonishes, holding her hands to her sides as he kisses her deep again, drinking in of her, her unique taste. Every kiss in his life has been different, yes, but this one comes with an aftertaste of the familiar. He will not let her get the better of him. He intends to savor this night fully. 

Breaking the kiss, he draws forth a single tentacle, presenting it to her as he steps back and watches. As it nudges her hand, she pets it, marvelling at the slick and smooth texture. A blush creeps up her cheeks, and he knows without even having to be a mindreader what she is thinking: how it will feel against her thighs, against her breasts, how it will feel _entering_ her.

“Does it have a name?” she asks. 

He scoffs. “It’s a _tentacle_. Do you name your fingers?”

“I could if I wanted to.”

He rolls his eyes. “No. It does not have a name.”

She pets it as if it was a coeurl kit, giving the underside a gentle scratch with her fingertips. He indulges her, letting it curl up in some sort of showing of pleasure, even though it borders on the inane. 

“So how much of this do you feel as feedback yourself?” she asks, wrapping her fingers around it and gently moving her hand along the length. 

“Only as much as I myself want to.” He does feel it, distantly, but pushes down the connection for now. At least the folds of his robes hide the burgeoning hard-on growing there, but he will have his time later.

“And how much do you want to feel?”

He circles around behind her, ghosting close enough that she feels his warmth, the mere brush of fabric against her, but nothing more. “Right now, I am focused on _you_.” With a curl of his fingers he brings the tentacle up to her mouth. “I will know every ilm of you before this night is over.”

She presses a kiss to the tentacle, soft and tentative, before she parts her lips and licks a long stripe along it, and he lets himself feel that. He grasps her hips, digging his fingers in as he leans against her, not too close but close _enough_ to smell her, to see as she wraps both her hands around the tentacle and urges it into her mouth.

Shamelessly, he lets himself feel just the brush of that too. How she takes the tip at first, her tongue testing and teasing, drawing circles with the tongue tip until she gets it slick with saliva and takes more. She bobs her head and swallows around it, straining to breathe a little with how greedy she is to get it deeper, and he has to mute the connection, biting back a moan. 

She clearly wants to hear it, though, pushing herself back against him and she squeals excitedly when she bumps against the erection pressing into her lower back.

He will not hear whatever words she has in mind. He keeps the tentacle in her mouth, circling back around to look at her from the front as drool dribbles down her chin. Her eyes still hold the same mirth. She truly is enjoying herself like this. Fascinating… And thrilling.

He runs his gloved finger down along her body, the robes falling apart as the thread comes undone.

The tentacle withdraws from her mouth, allowing her to breathe, and she looks at him with wide eyes. “That is such a neat trick!” 

She never rises to take his damned bait. 

Emet-Selch bites back a sliver of frustration at how good she is in this incarnation, and instead he drags his fingers over her bare skin, resisting the urge to dip them into her core. Not yet, not until she is like putty in his hands. He will take his time, and she will be a boneless mess by the end of it. Then he will take her and remind her of who he is.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs, and darkness presses in at the corners of the room, the shadows growing longer. Reality as she knows it is malleable, always changeable. From nothing can come everything. From the shadows parts of him emerge, more tentacles, thicker and longer and stronger, slithering towards her slowly. 

When she does not recoil, but instead her lips part and she unconsciously licks them, he knows there is no need for him to play coy tonight.

“Ready?”

“Very.” Her voice has gained a huskier edge. Oh, this night just keeps getting better. 

The tentacles curl around her thighs and legs, lifting her up. She cants her hips forward, unsure about the position, but he puts a hand on her belly and pushes her back into the waiting tentacles that wind around her arms and waist to support her. 

“Comfortable?” he asks. She is going to stay in this position a long, _long_ time and he would hate for her to have to beg for a pause too early from such a trifling matter such as sore joints. 

She squirms a little, adjusting. “Yes, but… Strange. It feels really strange. I’ve only done this with ropes before, and they’re not as, ah…”

“Warm? Alive? Writhing?” He taunts her a little, putting his hands on her knees and spreading them apart. It is the last time he will touch her this directly for at least a full bell or two, but he wants to have a good look. 

He pulls a chair from across the room, the scraping sound loud, and settles down. He wants to partake of the show he is directing, her body the stage.

Smaller, thinner tendrils slither up between her legs, rubbing along the inside of her thighs and moving closer and closer to the apex. She tries to crane her head to watch, and he allows a tiny change in position, because even he can admit that the sight is spectacular to drink in. Her wetness glistens in the low light, and the tendrils barely have to apply pressure to part her labia. 

Her tongue darts out and wets her lips, teeth worrying the lower one as he teases the tendrils lightly along her cunt, moving without touching the clit. He watches her facial expression more than what the tentacles are doing, watching the warmth suffusing her cheeks as the tentacles tighten their grip. Her hunger is ravenous and he is making sure she knows he is a damned buffet of options that will never bore her. 

“Now where shall I start with you,” he says, an array of tentacles in varying shapes and thickness presented in front of her. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the options, eyeing each and every one of them in turn, and he laughs. “Take your time deciding, dear. I am sure we can work through at least half of them tonight.”

Wine will be appropriate for this. The uncorked one no longer interests him, he wants something better. A nice vintage wine will go excellent with this display. Red, he thinks. It matches her make-up. It matches her. 

He pours himself a new glass. Her wine collection is excellent, but he wonders if she has even touched them on her own or if they were just put there by someone else — does this incarnation of her even like wine? Getting to know her again and again is such an effort. 

“I want the second one from left,” Ming calls from behind him. “My left.”

“Your wish is but my humble command to follow,” he replies, but he takes his time sniffing the wine, swirling it in the glass before pouring it half-full and resuming his seat in front of her before he will begin to truly work her over. 

“Well?”

“I am a starved man. Indulge me with the vision in front of me.”

That Ming wants the tentacles in her is written clear on her face and between her legs: she is _dripping_ , the tentacle sliding between her legs and coating itself in her slick, rubbing and nudging against her clit and entrance. Even as she whines she smiles, she wants it but she enjoys the teasing too, much to his mild irritation. It would be so _nice_ to have her break under the strain of want. 

He leans forward in the chair, his intention of not touching her crumbling faster than he would have liked. The thing is, though, that she is so beautiful spread wide. He parts her lips with the lightest of touches, nudging at her entrance, holding her open as a tentacle teases at the edges. “How deep will you handle it, dear? How deep can you take it? Show me your true appetite.”

And she laughs, and then that laugh turns into a moan, heady and hungry, as the tip of the tentacle pushes into her. “More,” she demands when he pauses to let her adjust, and how is he to say no? He gives her more, pushing the tentacle deeper until she yelps, her toes curling up tight. 

“Good?” 

“So. Good.” She pants, her face glowing with sweat and bliss. “Keep going.”

She is sweet and soft, or so he thought, but he likes this side of her more. This side speaks to him. He becomes so hungry for her when she is like this: spread wide open and ready to take, take, _take_ all he has to offer, and sweet darling Ming, he has so much to _give_. 

Emet-Selch takes his time, enjoying her, enjoying how she comes undone little by little. He is amused and he is aroused but above all he wants to wring every mote of pleasure out of her that he can. Who knows if he will get another chance in this lifetime of hers, but here she is, offering herself up for the taking so eagerly, and he has starved himself for too long.

A shudder passes through her body, her legs straining to press themselves together. He lets the tentacles give, just a little, and her face twists into an expression of pained pleasure, eyes shut tight and mouth open wide as she comes. She clenches down on the tentacle inside of her, and his control slips a little, his careful partitioning of the sensations of the parts of himself fucking her crumbling. He moans, just as loudly as she does, and she beams at him.

“You are enjoying it,” she teases, flexing her muscles even as she still trembles from the orgasm. 

“Perhaps I am. Though you are hardly in a position to do something to truly satisfy it.” He flicks his fingertip against her swollen node. “Tell me, dear. Where do you see this night ending?”

“I want that monster in the paintings.”

“Cruel words to describe me with.” But not entirely wrong. 

“I see it in you, you know,” she says, her piercing eyes fixing him. “It’s very beautiful. I would love to see it fully. And…” She cuts herself off, blushing and biting her lower lip. 

Interesting indeed. So she has a little shame. 

He finishes the glass of wine and gets up, and the room shifts further into shadowed darkness as he turns her until she is facing the full-length mirror. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he angles her body so he can look at her unimpeded as she drips on his tentacle. 

“And what else? Don’t be shy, Ming. After all, I cannot do anything to fulfil you…” He underscores his point by dragging a single gloved finger down her front, circling her nipple before skimming over her belly. “If you do not tell me what it is you desire.”

She meets his eyes in the mirror, the pink of her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “I want that beautiful monster to fuck me.”

“That is a bold and daring move,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her cheekbone. “We will have to work you a bit further, to make sure you can take it.”

The tentacle inside of her slips out, and another one replaces it, thicker and with ridges that when angled just right catches on the spongy bit inside of her. She takes it deep, and then another, far more slender one slides in alongside it. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as she comes, and he does not give her much breathing space as he moves on to the next tentacle, this one shaped like a rosebud. 

On and on he goes, working through each individual shape, picking thicker ones, and she is filled with his come and her own arousal that drips out each time they change. 

He checks how open she is, how much she can take, making the tentacles spread her apart as he can see inside of her in the mirror reflection. “My true form is not small,” he reminds her. “The depictions were… Accurate, in scale at least.” He laughs when she squirms herself down further, towards the thickening parts of the tentacle.

“Good girl,” he croons in her ear, moving his hand down between her legs and stroking at her clit. “You’re doing so good.” 

She writhes, and shadows unfurl from his form, curling up and around her, touching and teasing her while they lash and snap behind him, aching to be let loose completely. Not yet, not yet. 

“More,” she pants, her greed knowing no bounds. 

“And more you shall have.”

When he presses his hand against her lower belly he can feel them writhing underneath, and she whimpers, shocked at how much she is able to take. He takes pity on her, the small noises that spill from her lips endearing, and pushes two fingers into her mouth, her tongue curling around the leather and sucking with a starving need. 

“I think you would look better with something more filling in your mouth,” he says, and she nods, her eyes wide and pleading. 

His fingers are replaced by a tentacle, and she hollows her cheeks around it, teeth grazing the surface skin. He hisses against her jaw, pressing into her. The sensation is almost too much, and he nips sharply at her earlobe. “Behave.” 

He tilts her chin upwards and matches the thrusts of the tentacles inside her, in and out at the same time, making her alternate between deliciously full and achingly empty. All the while, he has two fingers at her clit, teasing in long and slow strokes, wrenching another orgasm from her _simply because he can_. 

She stokes a fire in him, and he has been so good, he has earned this little indulgence. 

The tentacle in her cunt pulls out and she gushes and drips with both her own juices and the seed from the tentacles that have been inside of her. It all pools on the floor below her, and he thinks it’d be cute to watch her lick it up but he has more important things to do. And that thing is her, fill her and take her and make her scream his name. Any of his names. All of them, if she truly sees him.

He pushes three of his gloved fingers into her, adds a fourth, and that is enough to make her come around him. He laughs at how easy she has become, her nerve endings fraying from the sheer force of all the stimulation he has given her. She whimpers when he flexes his fingers, her body shaking.

The tentacle in her mouth shudders and comes, filling her throat as she swallows and swallows, seemingly determined not to spill a single drop. 

“What a good girl you can be.” He praises her because she has earned it, and she revels in it as the tentacle leaves her mouth, twisting her head to meet his lips. He can taste himself on her tongue, and he groans into the kiss, his free hand moving up to cup at her chin. It is hard to keep his greed under control when she lets him drink his fill like this. 

Alas, she is _mortal_ , and she needs to breathe. She gasps for air, her lips quivering. Indeed, as he runs his fingers all over her, hands cupping and caressing, gloves still on, he can feel the tremors in her body. She is already an overstimulated mess, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she pants wantonly. 

He presses a kiss to her temple. “Come now, we still have so much to do in the night. We wouldn’t want you to quit here.” 

She flings her head back over his shoulder and he feels the aether in the air thinning as she pulls it into herself, knitting and mending. It’s cute, that she tries to do it like this, when he is _right here_. He spreads his fingers wide inside of her and his magick surges into her, over-writing her feeble healing spell and she screams, jumping and twisting, biting her own lip as her eyes roll back in her head. 

So easy. So deliciously easy. 

Reinvigorated, Ming snaps her teeth playfully, arching back into him, and he has the tentacles shift her up, up, up again until his face is between her legs. He maintains eye contact as he puts his mouth to her cunt, taking his time teasing and tasting her. The smell of her sex hangs heavy in the air, thick and musky, and he dips his mouth down and takes her in his mouth, sucking on her clit until she bucks against him. 

It is so much, so intense, and he lets go of the control he has maintained of his own form. He becomes so hungry for her when she is like this, and he lets the shift happen, wanting to be satiated too.

For once, their wants are aligned in such a perfect match that they can neatly slot themselves together and pretend that tonight is the way of things, always. 

Darkness pulls tighter around them. He lets her watch the transformation, drags it out as his vessel changes into one he more closely can call home, and she is mesmerized, her full lips parted, her eyes wide in awe. His new, prehensile tongue pushes deep into her. If it is anything like it used to be, he knows this much about her: she wants to feel the stretch, she wants to be freaky, be told she’s good, wants him to dig into her, push against the spongy bit that makes her fall apart. He can do all that _and more_. 

One of the smaller tendrils curls around her clit delicately, and she comes with a loud whine as his tongue fucks in and out of her.

He speaks without using his mouth, his voice like a silk whisper against her ear as he asks: “What do you want, Ming? Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me!” She laughs, biting her lip, but her sincerity shines through. “Let me see you in all your glory. Impale me on your cock.” She means every word, and he _thrills_ at it. 

This is him at his most loving and giving: _see who I am_ , and she sees him and knows his true self now. She tips her head back and her lips are open, she calls for him to come closer, she licks a long stripe up his chin and across his mouth, lips gliding over his before she nicks her tongue on his teeth. He laps up her blood and kisses her as gently as he can. 

He moves himself in between her legs, careful not to hurt her, and she gasps at the sight of his cock — but there is no fear in her gaze, only that appetite for _more_ that he is swiftly coming to adore. 

He rubs his cock along her slit, coating himself in her arousal until he is just as slick as her. Thick drops of pre well up at the tip as she squirms around him, clenching her thighs around his length, and he struggles to maintain his composure. 

“Needy, are we?”

“Both of us, yes.”

Accurate, but he still grumbles.

Positioning himself, he presses the cockhead against her entrance, watching and waiting. He takes note of her every expression, waiting to see if she snaps or not, but she takes it so well. “You are being so good,” he says, meaning every drop of admiration in his voice. The tendril resting around her clit curls tighter around it, and she relaxes enough that the tip slides in. 

They moan in unison at the sensation, and he holds still as she adjusts, despite how badly he wants to just take her and bite down on her breast right now. She is so impossibly hot around him, in his hands, wrapped up in his tentacles.

“Move, _please_ ,” Ming stutters out between her short breaths, and he presses into her, just an ilm, she is so _tight_ around him. He digs his clawed fingers into her back and waits for the yield, again. But she truly wants to be impaled on his cock and wriggles her hips until she takes another ilm. He is so impressed with her, impressed with how willing and able and _wet_ she is, it makes her so easy to fuck even as the bumpy ridge of his cock drags against her inner walls and she clenches hard and hot on his length. 

He takes it little by little, even as his claws dig harder into her soft flesh. She is so beautiful in this moment: her wet slick heat, her beautiful mouth, her big eyes, her black hair spilling over her shoulders and clinging to her damp skin.

Finally there is nothing more he can fit into her, her lower belly bulging slightly from the pressure inside of her, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Move.” It is less of a plea and more of a command, and he obeys. 

He has to measure his pace, remember to stop before he pushes too deep, but she is enjoying herself so much that it becomes hard to keep it even. She squeezes around him, her hands wrapped around the tentacles that hold her up as she moans and whimpers.

“Emet-Selch… I…”

“Say. It.” He punctuates his words with sharp thrusts, moves that have her keening right on the edge of pleasure. 

“Please. _Please_ ,” she begs, and her words are so sweet, so vulnerable, that he cannot resist. 

The tendril around her clit encircles it completely as he angles himself inside her, and she comes before he even has a chance to drive into her. The pressure of her around him has him tumbling over the edge too, the darkness fully closing down upon them as he is lost to it — the warmth, the cresting wave, all of it too much and not quite enough but oh, he lets it take him anyway.

When the shadows part it is him sprawled on top of her, his decidedly human mouth breathing against her neck. His robes coalesce onto his body, taking form out of the shadows, while she remains naked. Her wet cunt pressed against his thigh will surely leave stains, but he does not mind. Not right now. She gently strokes at his hair, her hands shaking, eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the light that has returned. 

“Was it to your liking?” he murmurs against her neck, trailing kisses along her jaw. 

She nods, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Yes.”

“If I may ask,” he says, moving his face up so that he meets her eyes. She is _filthy_ , sweaty and messy with his seed and her own come. When she has recovered enough he will have to wash her, clean her off, praise her for how well she has endured — indeed, he will have to praise her properly for all she has carried herself through tonight. “Where did such a desire come from?”

Ming’s soft smile always strikes at him in such an unguarded way, finding its way past all his defences. It hurts him how close to home she feels, just being near. Close, so close. “Sometimes you see a monster and you want a monster,” she says, cupping his cheek. “And sometimes, you get to see the truth of someone else. And it may be monstrous, but it is still loveable.” 

Emet-Selch kisses the inside of her wrist. A monster indeed. But her monster, now. As long as Ming Yue will have him.

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic is part of an exchange with Saffron ([@himbowol](https://twitter.com/himbowol)) who drew my WoL Qestra with Emet in exchange for this. Ming Yue belongs entirely to Saffron, and I hope I didn't treat her too poorly. 
> 
> Title taken from [Inertia Creeps](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sE7xyn28wjg) by Massive Attack.
> 
> My twitter is [@celestial_txt](https://twitter.com/celestial_txt) & [my carrd](https://celestial-txt.carrd.co/) is here.


End file.
